


Smoke

by Furiael



Series: Freebatch from the 201B [3]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 15:22:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21430405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Furiael/pseuds/Furiael
Summary: He's been alone for five years. Damn Stephen Strange allowed Thanos to snap half the population, including himself. Of course, Everett hates that.
Relationships: Everett Ross/Stephen Strange
Series: Freebatch from the 201B [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1544503
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	Smoke

He can't tell when it started. At least not exactly. But he surely remembers the why. And from there, he didn't stop. Four and a half years later, reason keeps holding the upper hand versus his simplistic desire of leave everything to fuck off and let the nicotine and tar from his Camel Blue do their damn job. 

Although he had to admit as well that these little tubes weren't doing their job properly. Five years after that day, and he has yet to get a lung emphysema. 

Staring down to the ashtray, he examined the remains of his Pro-Cancer cruzade. Ashes, black dust... Just like _that_ day. The day of the "Snap". 

"What a shitty name," he spoke loud yet mostly to himself while smoking his cigarette. His blue eyes, now off, dark and tired, kept staring at the little object in front of him. To his mind came all those who disappeared that day, turning into ashes and dust in front of his eyes, and then nothing. A simple action, a snap, turned half the population into something that not even the Bible’s prophets would be able to predict.

Strange. _Stephen_. The memory of him just as everything happened came to him. He didn’t need to be told, explained and much less, he didn’t need a drawing or a confirmation. From the moment he saw Strange being beamed up by that giant space donut, Everett knew shit would go haywire. And it didn’t have anything to do with the Sorcerer’s role as defender of reality. It was just... intuition.

Talking to Stephen's astral form —which helped him to know what was going on— didn't help either. It confirmed his gut. Watching that etereal appearance disapper in front of his eyes made him feel horribly sick. His heart had never been so weak before, and much less for love. Fear of loneliness presented up to him in the weirdest of moments and then, he knew that was their last chat.

"And that motherfucker dared to say that he would be back. That I should wait for him."

The comment makes him laugh, bitterly, the gesture barely drawn on his features, almost coming out like disgust. The need to put an end to everything is there. Maybe a bullet to the right place, and that would be all. But he couldn't. He was a diligent and important agent, promoted due to his clean labor on defending the interest of his nation after the Snap.

"Cheap, fucking magi-- wizard", he complains loudly again, before standing up. He threw the cigarette's stub to the ashtray just after the last puff. He made sure it was long, charged and obviously a sour one, leaving behind the worst taste in his mouth... The normal outcome for the every day for the past few years. "Five years have passed and you have me here waiting for you. You're a bastard, an idiot. Don't you dare to appear just now. I hate you."

It was time to get back to work. His hands passed by now thick beard —which heavily constrasted with his highly silver hair—, cleaning the remains of his smoking sin, and before leaving the place, he put on his nicotine patches —everyday was a three patch day— to help him through all his obligations: paperwork, mission assignment, chats and yelling at people about that fucking day back in 2018. Terrorism didn't lower its rates, not even after lossing half the population in the planet.

There was so damn much to do.

Hands to his sides, Everett curled them into tight fists. His eyes traveled from the ground to the ceiling, and he blinked a few times more than necessary. "No, not now", he told himself while swallowing. It was hard to fight back tears.

He lost.

However, this time was easier. He didn't cry for long, and actually the tears helped him feel lighter. Not calm, but well enough to deal with all the baggage. To close this lapsus, he took out a small piece of paper from his pocket, it was slightly crumped and old.

_The distance is nothing when one has motive._

Famous quote by Jane Austen, which Stephen used to seal his incantation —one of his corny presents—. He gave that gift to Everett on some past birthday. The blond man was tempted to rip off or toss the piece of paper. _Tied to a memory, what a fool._ He felt small, like some naive teenager, and it kinda made him upset. Fifty two years taught him not to grow attached to things, and much less to feelings.

In the end, the paper went back to his pocket.

"Bats is still waiting for you behind the main door. If you get home early, be a good housewife and at least buy tea, cookies and milk. I do enough for both of us by bringing money home and I always have to go to the store to buy all that shit."

He smiled. But this time, he was full of nostalgia. Once again, he fell into the usual loop or remembering him on the little details of couple life. Just the notification sound from his phone brought him back to reality. A message from Steve Rogers simply stating, "We found the way".

"Alright, time to move.".

And with that, agent Everett K. Ross brushed his clothes clean and so did with his appearance. He made a couple of calls and then ordered a charter flight to New Jersey. He had to get ASAP to the Avengers Compound.

The Blue Camel box was left behind on the table.

**Author's Note:**

> The part of Stephen's Astral body talking to Everett is based on Sh2jw's work. Love this masterpiece.


End file.
